


Lullaby

by snakeling



Series: Duetto [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Non-negotiated somnophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeling/pseuds/snakeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne is really bad at resisting temptation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Колыбельная](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7210268) by [arisu_aiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisu_aiko/pseuds/arisu_aiko)



When Ariadne finally calls it a night and gets ready to leave, she realises that Arthur is still there, dreaming. She feels a pang of guilt at that: the level she built is good, perfect for their needs, if she may say so herself, but it is also fiendishly complex, and Arthur, perfectionist that he is, has spent the whole day in and out of dreams trying to make it work.

He looks unkempt, shirt creased by too much lying down, chin darkening with stubble, eyelashes fanning out on his cheekbones, emphasizing the bruised look of his eyes, strands of hair displaced by a frustrated hand earlier. He looks human, adorable and entirely fuckable, and Ariadne’s deeply-buried feelings — “it’s too dangerous, Ariadne, getting involved with another dreamer” — come to the fore.

She bites her lower lip, tells herself that it’s wrong and goes against Arthur’s wishes, but in the end, she’s always been bad at resisting temptation.

The PASIV timer reads 00:27. More than enough.

Ariadne reaches for his zipper with a hesitant hand, her eyes flicking up at him to check he’s still sleeping. The zipper going down sounds unnaturally loud in the empty, cavernous space, and Ariadne scans the shadows guiltily.

Carefully she opens his slacks, revealing the grey boxers underneath, then slides the elastic down, slowly uncovering the flaccid cock nestling into the dark curls. She tucks the band under the balls, not daring to slide the pants and boxers down. Not that this would be easier to justify, should Arthur wake before the timer runs out.

For a moment, she just looks at her prize. All soft like that, it looks a bit small and funny. It’s cut, something Ariadne has stopped expecting since moving across the Atlantic. She slides a finger down its length, and Arthur lets out a small sigh. Alarmed, Ariadne searches his face, but it seems to have been unconscious; he’s still asleep.

Emboldened, she grips his cock firmly and slides her hand up and down until the lack of lube forces her to stop. It’s grown a little longer, a little thicker, and a bead of clear fluid wells up on the slit. Ariadne leans to taste it.

She takes her time, pushing the tip of her tongue against the slit, tracing the ridge of the head, then sliding down along the engorged veins. She breathes deep, searching for that note that she always recognises as Arthur, underneath the smell of musk and clean sweat. It touches something deep within her, some primal part of herself that encourages her to act without thought of the dangers or consequences. She tucks her free hand between her legs, giving herself something to rub against.

He’s completely hard, now, and she takes the head of his cock into her mouth, slowly sliding down until her mouth is filled, pausing for a few seconds to relish the sensation. She’s grinding on the heel of her hand, her clit rubbing against the thick seam of her jeans.

She backs up until only the head is in her mouth, trying to regulate her breathing, but she’s too excited. She starts going down again, this time trying to get past her tonsils. She goes slowly, swallowing around his cock until it slides down her throat and her nose is buried in his dark curls.

She closes her eyes and let the sensations wash over her: his taste in her mouth, his smell in her nose, the feel of his skin under her fingers. She feels elated that she’s managing to deepthroat. Before she’s always been rushed into it by the grabbing hands of her partner, and it ended in tears and frustration. But Arthur’s hands lie relaxed and pliant on the lawnchair he’s sleeping on, and Ariadne is free to set her own pace.

She sucks up and down his cock, lazily, almost forgetting to look at the timer. 00:12. Still plenty of time.

Her jeans are soaked through where she’s rubbing against her hand, the fabric stiff and unyielding against her clit. She can feel her orgasm getting closer, almost in her reach. She sucks harder, intoxicated by the smell and taste and feel of Arthur.

There’s no warning when he spills inside her mouth, bitter and salty. She has no handkerchief at hand and must keep him clean, so she swallows and swallows, and to her immense surprise, gets off on that. Fireworks explode behind her eyelids, and her whole world reduces to his pleasure and hers. Her muscles betray her and she tumbles against the side of the lawnchair.

At last, she releases him, licks at the couple of stray drops, and slumps to the ground, out of breath as if she’d just ran a marathon.

She looks up at the PASIV and sits up suddenly, all post-coital fuzziness forgotten. Only two minutes left.

She tucks him back in his clothes, trying to smooth the worst of the wrinkles. She takes off her cardigan and wraps it around her waist, to hide the very obvious wet stain, then open the window to try and get rid of the worse of the smell; the air is redolent with sex.

She manages to slip out of the door before he opens his eyes.


End file.
